


Candlelight

by talefeathers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Power Outage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6999601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/pseuds/talefeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A soft, quiet moment in which Enjolras remembers someone lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candlelight

Enjolras dropped himself into his couch once he’d lit a few candles and began answering text messages from his friends and family.

“I’m fine,” he typed once before copying and pasting it into every other reply. “Power is out, but I have plenty of books, plenty of candles and plenty of food.”

He turned his phone off once that was done and tossed it onto the coffee table, hoping to preserve the battery since he couldn’t very well charge it. He shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch, crossed his arms over his chest, and set his feet on the coffee table beside one of the candles he’d placed about the room. He watched its little flame shift and glow.

Almost a year ago he had given a eulogy that used candlelight to describe his best friend. Steady, warm, bright. Bending and flickering with the movements of the air around it, but ever reaching upward. A gentle guide.

Gone in an instant.

Enjolras’s eyes had since adjusted to the darkness this absence had left, but grief still ghosted through him like fragrant tendrils of smoke in soft moments like this one, when his life quieted and slowed. 

In the early days he had avoided such moments, unable to bear feeling so close to someone he knew he’d never see again. Now he sank into it, closing his eyes and inhaling five different scents of candles, basking in the warm, shuddering glow. Letting that familiar ache curl into his chest.

“You never did decide if you believed in ghosts,” he murmured to the empty room, smiling a bit. “Or an afterlife or anything. And I guess I’m not sure if I do, either. But if you can hear me…”

He exhaled and opened his eyes. Turned them back to the candle by his feet.

“I miss you, Combeferre,” he said. “I still do.”


End file.
